


It Is Time to See the World As It Is

by dracofiend



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: M/M, Wordcount: 10.000-30.000, Wordcount: Over 10.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-02
Updated: 2011-11-02
Packaged: 2017-10-25 15:46:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/272014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracofiend/pseuds/dracofiend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spock is compelled to resign his commission. Jim is compelled to get a new first officer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Is Time to See the World As It Is

**Hello, Stranger.**

He stands by the transporter, eyes fixed intently on the pad. Lieutenant Kim asks for his order and he gives it with a nod; a deep breath in through the nose. The golden lights sparkle, flash, coalesce to reveal Jim’s new first officer and chief of security, standing at the ready with his hands at his sides. Jim takes in the neat cap of dark hair, the distinct pointed ears, and crushes the rising ache in his gut with a friendly smile.

“Commander Selvek,” he greets, moving forward, all warmth. “Welcome aboard. I’m Captain Kirk.” He doesn’t extend a hand, just keeps his smile wide.

“Captain. It is a pleasure and an honor,” the commander replies, inclining his head. He wears operations red and no expression at all.

“I look forward to working with you, as does the rest of the crew.” Jim gestures toward the doors. “If you’d care to follow me? I’ll show you to the bridge. Lieutenant,” Jim says, nodding thanks at the officer. He starts to turn and stops as the commander steps down the pad, and it’s suddenly a big deal, breathing. The commander is broader in the shoulders, in the jaw; he’s taller, taller than Jim by a few inches--but he has the same wiry strength, the same elegant step, the same motionless composure, the same un-self-conscious stare.

The stare is on him, undisturbed, until Jim remembers he’s supposed to be taking Commander Selvek to the bridge. “Right this way,” he says, wondering how long he can keep it together before someone notices he can’t fucking do this job without Spock and throws him off the damn ship.

+++

Jim’s a lucky guy, he’ll be the first to admit it--and he’s damned lucky to have Commander Selvek on board.

“You’re damned lucky to have Commander Selvek on board,” Bones tells him, driving a finger into his shoulder to emphasize his point. Jim is drinking (moping into, Bones claims) a really nice bourbon. “Romulan ale won’t cut it, not in your condition,” Bones had said.

“Is that your official medical opinion?”

“You bet your ass.”

So Jim had drunk it down, grimacing, liking the artificial heat. _Spock really likes the artificial heat._

“So?” Jim asks, pushing his empty glass forward. “Am I going to make it, Doc?”

Bones snorts, and begins pouring out another. “You’ve been through worse, kid.”

Jim disagrees, silently, and focuses on the liquid stilling in front of him. “Don’t let me embarrass myself in front of the crew.” He takes a big gulp, times it wrong, and coughs.

“Too late for that,” Bones replies, watching him.

Jim wipes his mouth, coughs a little more, swallows.

“So what do you think of him? Pointy-eared bastard 2.0?” Bones asks, sipping his drink in a prim, yet manly, way.

“He’s not,” Jim says, more sharply than he means to. The look on Bones’ face doesn’t help. _He’s got Spock’s ears, but not his humor._

“He’s a good first officer, and a good security chief,” Jim mumbles.

“Yes he is,” Bones declares, lifting his drink. “Ruthlessly efficient, systematic as a machine, oblivious to fatigue, logical to the core. God bless the Vulcans.” He clinks his glass to Jim’s.

Jim concedes a wry smile. “Amen to that.”

**Spock, Spock, You Busy Bee.**

"Commander, I've rescheduled your meeting with Senior Delegate T'Pan; she has been called to Lower Storilaya to see to a disruption in the irrigational infrastructure. Your revised agenda--"

"Commander, apologies for the interruption--the Acting Minister of Resettlement - Rural Sectors is on the viewer in the conference room and wishes to speak to you urgently--"

"Commander, the mineral content report you requested on Sector 88.4--"

"Please give it to me," Spock instructs his aide calmly, moving toward her with purpose. He collects the proffered padd while another is produced for his review. "Inform the Acting Minister that I will be with him momentarily. Stulvok, please allow an additional 23 minutes for my appointment with T'Grek this afternoon, to account for the delay due to the Acting Minister's business; otherwise my revised schedule is satisfactory. Thank you."

With that, Spock vanishes from his office in the Management of Urban Resources and Affairs Department in Federation Outpost 4, New Vulcan.

It's not until six engagements (two unscheduled, one unavoidably drawn out), a lab session, and 78 communications later that Spock sinks into a restorative meditation, his wrists falling loosely over his knees. He sits, legs crossed, eyes closed, spine firm, on the floor of his unlit quarters. They are not generous but they are pleasantly warm, and Spock's breaths grow shallow at the prescribed rate. The path to tvi-sochya emerges gently in his mind, its faintly curving lines stretching out to become clean and straight; infinite, familiar. They trace the events of the day in neat cross-sections, hour by hour, moment by moment, and freed from the exigencies of experiencing life, Spock examines it. Isolated instants become links in a chain, patterns that will shape decisions Spock has yet to make. They reach forward, and backward, and Spock follows each thread from now to tomorrow to yesterday and yesterday and yesterday. His mind flows within the confines of s'thaupi, and in this most elevated state of being, his thoughts come to rest, as they have for the 43.79 Earth days he has served on New Vulcan, upon Jim.

+++

"Spock," Jim says. His eyes are widened; an indication, Spock has learned, of sincerity, whether genuine or affected. "You’re serious."

Genuine, Spock is aware. Captain Kirk is more blatantly earnest than Spock has ever witnessed. “I am.”

"But--the Enterprise needs you. I need you. We're a team. We're supposed to be a team." His low voice broadcasts his distress plainly but Spock merely raises an eyebrow and inquires as to the basis of these assertions. The captain attempts to deflect Spock's simple queries with further statements grounded on what appear to be human normative expectations and strong if unidentified emotions; statements that, in Spock's opinion, do little to support Captain Kirk's pre-determined conclusion. Spock cannot allow such arguments to prevail, and in the end, it is only Jim, asking.

"Spock--I know you feel you owe it to your people and I respect that, I understand that. As much as a human probably can. I’m not saying you shouldn’t go. But I don’t—what brought this on? Are you—are you unhappy here? You never said—”

“I do not believe it is material, but no, I have not been unhappy with my role aboard the Enterprise.” It’s Jim’s dazed expression that draws the next admission from Spock. “It has been highly rewarding to serve as first officer for a singularly skilled and dedicated crew.” He stops, intending to end there, but still Jim gazes at him with an unusual (disquieting) air of incomprehension.

“I have enjoyed it, very much,” Spock says.

“Then why? Why _now?_ ”

Spock is unfamiliar with fear on the captain's face. He has not observed it, despite Nero, Earth, and 2.02 years of missions that have too-nearly resulted in the obliteration of the captain, his crew, and entire planetary systems. Captain Kirk, Spock believes, has never grasped the lesson of the Kobayashi Maru. It is difficult for Spock to judge the emotion lining the captain's features now.

"The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few," he tells the captain, "or the one." Then he stands, nods, and leaves the ready room, the padd bearing his notice of resignation of command remaining untouched on Jim's desk.

**Commander Selvek Shows His Quality.**

The Spican Chief of Foreign Relations to the Office of the Premier is outraged--Jim could tell by the flapping fin-like growths protruding from all around his head, waving rapidly as barn doors left open in a storm, even if the dignitary had not been hissing, "This is outrageous! You cannot begin to comprehend the extent of my outrage! You would disregard the sacred tradition of Yerv-Mah, a practice my people have observed--"

"Chief-Representative," Kirk begins in his most placating voice. He's not a bad diplomat, but evidently the Spican race is immune to his considerable charms. "We're doing everything in our power--"

The dignitary's head flaps arch threateningly; the layers of fluted skin on his neck join in.

"We will be quite unable to proceed to Alberio e in this barbarous fashion! The Premier would most certainly--"

"Most reverenced Chief-Representative," Jim tries again. He's aiming for solicitous but his dress uniform's just a little too tight under the arms and frankly, he’s getting annoyed. Part of him wants to tell the Spican asshole to get to the damn conference himself--it'll be three weeks in those ridiculous Spican shuttlecrafts going at top speed all the way--fucking half-impulse--before they even get a glimpse of the Alberion system--

"Captain, if I may," Commander Selvek says. Jim glances over and gives him a slight nod, knowing Selvek will read it as _for fuck's sake, please._

"Chief-Representative, while the time-honored customs of your people are undoubtedly beyond the complete understanding of ourselves, we have taken great care to learn what we can, and have ensured your living arrangements are as isolated as is physically possible on a ship of this size," Selvek says. He has turned to address the dignitary directly, and he is even-toned and expressionless as always.

"You will understand that certain protective measures must be followed, and that such measures must be adjusted to address the additional concerns that hosting a person of your significance to the Federation naturally entails. We have modified the clearance requirements on all entryways on your deck, and no personnel will be permitted access without your express permission, barring the occurrence of any unforeseen circumstances. Further, we have assigned security staff to your deck to ensure your privacy for the duration of the journey, and I have given each member of the security detail strict instructions to remain outside of all quarters on your deck unless assistance is requested. Please also be aware that your advisers have been assigned quarters on Deck 17, three decks above your own. You must forgive me, Chief-Representative, if I am in error, but has it not been written in the most reverenced Darv-Naha'lkh Ehla that three lengths of a vessel are sufficient to preserve the solitude of the wise?"

Jim watches as the head flaps diminish and the neck flutes relax, and tries to make his face like Selvek's. Neutral, politely inquisitive, and possessing of an unassuming familiarity with ancient Spican texts. It doesn't matter that he fails; the dignitary has eyes only for Jim's first officer. The Spican makes a humming noise; his head-fins ripple--and suddenly it strikes Jim that the guy’s laughing, hard, if the rapid waving of those flaps in Selvek's direction means anything.

"Why yes, Commander, it has been written, and it remains so, honor to Darv-alik. When did you become a student of our ways? I must inform my chief counselor at once. I have forever championed a renewed effort to educate our youth in the knowledge of our elders, and when my chief counselor learns that outworlders are able to quote the timeless writings of Darv-alik while our own people forget the greatness of their traditions..."

He continues talking, without a break, as he allows Selvek to lead him and his entourage to their respective quarters.

+++

Finally, they are well on their way to Alberio e, and Jim claps Selvek on the shoulder. Selvek doesn't flinch--Jim's getting used to that. He slides into the command chair and grins up. "Good going back there. I get the feeling our guest wasn't joking about talking to the Spican Premier, and then who knows what would've happened. Probably some kind of admiralty-based shitstorm and a dishonorable discharge from all future diplomatic missions." Jim pauses. "Hey, you know, I just had a thought."

"I doubt Starfleet Command would respond to reports of dissatisfaction from the Chief-Representative by excepting the Enterprise from diplomatic duties," Selvek replies.

Jim waits for Selvek to elaborate ( _It would be illogical for Starfleet to incentivize suboptimal performance on assignments of this nature..._ ), but he doesn't. So Jim just sort of smiles, ignores the pang of something inside him, and says, "I had no idea you were such a Spican historian. That was impressive."

"I had the opportunity to review information in the ship's library that I believed could be relevant to the security arrangements."

"Oh,” Jim says. “Logical.” He gives Commander Selvek an appreciative nod and turns to the business of reviewing the latest engineering reports. It's only after his shift on the bridge is over that he looks up the ship's library log and discovers that his first officer retrieved, and seems to have read, every scrap of data accumulated by the Federation on Spica and its inhabitants, ever. _Spock would've done the same,_ Jim thinks. Nevertheless, he's surprised.

It happens again, and again, and at some point, it stops being a surprise. It's just Selvek.

**New Vulcan Wants YOU.**

It is his 86th day on New Vulcan, and Spock’s mental discipline is severely lacking, today. Nyota’s words filter to the surface of his mind, coloring his thoughts at unpredictable moments--during his presentation of the Sector 88 viability analysis, as he traverses the courtyard of the Council chambers, when he nods to his viewscreen and agrees to meet his father for the evening meal.

 _How are you, Spock?_ her transmission had said. _How are you really?_ Nyota’s image had smiled--it was their “inside joke,” and Nyota’s indication of her wish to understand the current state of Spock’s emotions. It had no application to the present context, however, as the transmission had been sent hours ago and Spock’s emotions had certainly changed since that time. Even had Spock wished to communicate with Nyota via a live transmission, he doubted he could do so. Nyota would be on gamma shift, in all likelihood, assuming that the duty roster had not undergone significant changes since he had last compiled it. Nyota preferred gamma shift ( _“It’s more peaceful at night”_ ) for reasons Spock never fully understood, and Spock had accommodated her where possible, because it was logical to do so; he judged it probable that his replacement did the same.

 _We miss you here. I miss you,_ her image had said, with a smile that most humans would deem “shy.” Nyota was not, but that did not prevent Spock from finding the expression captivating. _Not most, though,_ the message had continued. Nyota’s eyes had become playful then and Spock had felt his mental reins tighten--they do so now, as he recollects it--but then Nyota had shaken her head and changed expression, and passed on to further remarks about the condition of the ship and the crew, telling Spock of their most recent assignment transporting a diplomatic contingent to a Federation caucus.

 _Commander Selvek is exceptionally gifted with the translation of ancient writings,_ Nyota had told him. Only a few more seconds of her transmission remained. _I hate to say it, but I don’t think I could’ve done better._ A laugh, a shift of her hair, tied back in its usual style. _I should get to bed. Good night, Spock._ Spock had watched her smile, and had understood she was sad.

+++

Sarek must observe it, the disarray within Spock’s mind, but he chooses not to comment upon it as they eat. Spock chews slowly, enjoying the firm texture and true flavor of the b’lltarr, despite his distraction. He urges himself to focus on his father’s speech with greater vigor.

“The Council is most pleased with the colony’s progress,” Sarek says, “and grateful for your contributions. Councillor Solak informed me that since your arrival here, reports regarding the development of Kah’ru’kahr have become increasingly encouraging. The terraforming plans have proceeded more quickly than previously; assistance from the Federation is more easily obtained. None of this is surprising to the Council--however, I do not believe they had anticipated the full effect of your presence here.” Sarek has Spock’s full attention now, and he returns his father’s gaze without reaction.

“You have given the people hope,” Sarek tells him, “as did your namesake, centuries ago, when our society was in its infancy.” He is silent, regarding Spock. “I believe your mother would have taken pleasure in knowing this.”

Spock can’t stop the sharp pull of emotion when his mother is mentioned. It is--perhaps not more bearable, but less unbearable now, the void in his mind where she once was. He is certain his father, who speaks of her without a single sign of emotion that Spock can detect, continues to suffer her loss more keenly, more incessantly, than even she would have been able to understand.

Spock lowers his eyes, in wordless acknowledgement.

“The Council has asked me to invite you to the chambers for a formal audience,” Sarek says. “All the Elders will be in attendance. They wish to hear you, Spock.” His tone quiets, slightly. “In particular, they wish to gain a greater understanding of your--unconventional ability to perceive a world beyond that which can be logically perceived.”

Spock finds it necessary to absorb this information carefully. The High Council rarely extends such invitations, and then only under extraordinary conditions. Spock has observed that even during this time of vast upheaval, the traditional strictures persist, most forcefully in those who preserve Vulcan culture. As a general rule, the Elders are not open to suggestions.

“It will be my great honor to go before the Pid Shik’Orna Dor,” Spock answers after a moment, inclining his head.

Sarek nods in return, displaying neither satisfaction nor pride that his son, who once stood before the chancellor and all the ministers and rejected their welcome with evident scorn, has accepted their request to return without the least trace of any emotion whatsoever. They continue their meal in peace.

“Spock,” Sarek says, tearing off a piece of kreyla. “Have you given consideration to your commitment to Starfleet, once your current assignment on New Vulcan is concluded?”

The question doesn’t spark the same irritation it once would have; to date, they have discussed his allegiance to Starfleet in fifty-three separate conversations. The first twelve were cordial; the last twenty-six have been weighed with grief, and buoyed by reconciliation.

“I have,” Spock replies, because it is the truth. He has constructed, in his mind, two hundred and two plausible scenarios in which he returns to the Enterprise, and ninety-eight plausible scenarios in which the Enterprise does not figure, but Jim is there. _There are lots of other ships in the fleet,_ Jim once told him, grinning, _but there’s only one Spock._

Sarek’s gaze is evaluative as he eats his kreyla. “Will you share your thoughts?”

Spock considers declining; Sarek will not insist. The next words Sarek chooses, Spock suspects, are intended as an inducement.

“I believe the Council is considering the possibility of extending you an appointment as Gol Nev’su, to assist in the continued construction of Kah’ru’kahr,” Sarek says.

Spock knows his respiratory system does not cease functioning, but there is an instant when he could, if he allowed it, believe otherwise.

“An action of this import is unprecedented,” Sarek continues, but it is needless. Spock finds himself struggling to parse his thoughts--this degree of responsibility has never, to Spock’s knowledge, never in the history of the High Council or its predecessor bodies, been accorded to one so young or inexperienced as Spock. An appointment to the position of Gol Nev’su is the first step in becoming a member of the Council, one that is dearly bought. Of this, Spock is intimately aware.

“If the Council intends to bestow such a distinction on me,” Spock says, understating the matter by several orders of magnitude, “it would be only logical to inquire as to the basis for their consideration.” _They are desperate,_ Spock cannot refrain from thinking.

“They are hopeful,” Sarek answers. “They are hopeful that your particular abilities, which have always been rare among Vulcans and have only become more so in recent years, will provide further assurance of the success of Kah’ru’kahr, and perhaps the whole of our new homeworld.” Sarek pauses and locks his fingers together, leaning forward, closer to Spock. His face alters-- and Spock is reminded of times long past, when his mother was away, and his father was his only source of comfort for the hurts of the day.

“Assurances are sparse for us in these times, my son. The High Council may seek one in you.”

Sarek leaves the question unasked; Spock feels the blunt burden of it nevertheless, pressing upon his mind, upon his inexorable and wholly unwanted sense of failure. He cannot give what is desired of him, here, as elsewhere, as everywhere he has ever existed.

“If that is so, they will find it necessary to continue to seek,” Spock says, too softly, because it is beyond his capability, just at this moment, to do otherwise.

**He Gives a Hell of a Lecture on the Merits of Emotion.**

Contrary to popular belief, Jim’s life is not actually endangered by alien life forms or heat-seeking pollens or pure energy fields on a weekly basis. Still, because Bones is right about space being a rampant minefield of dangers, and Jim is right about Selvek being an exemplary first officer, it’s only a matter of time before Commander Selvek is beaming down to the planet to pop off rebel Altarians who have Jim surrounded and their phasers trained on him. It’s _zap zap zappity zap_ and the thick smell of ozone, and when the orange streaks fade only red-shirts are standing. Jim’s on the ground, busy with some heavy bleeding--Selvek’s above him, bending down (no concern on his face). There’s a scary-as-fuck second when Jim wants to grab him because he is not Spock but maybe this is as close as Jim’s ever gonna be and it shouldn’t be Selvek’s hands warm on him now but it _is,_ which just pisses Jim off--and then it’s gone; Bones’ knee is there, shoving into him. Jim’s going _Ow!_ and Bones is yelling _Goddammit Jim!_ \--there’s the shock of the hypo--and that’s Jim out, thank god.

Jim’s back on his feet, swiveling in his command chair, in under three days (“That’s the last time I’m saving your sorry hide, Jim! You’ve used up your quota! For life!” “Acknowledged, Bones!”). Commander Selvek’s beside him, hands behind his back like nothing major just happened. A tiny part of Jim wishes his brain were Vulcan too; then he wouldn’t be totally weirded out every time he glances over and sees Selvek and feels--good about it. Not just, like, fine, or comfortable that the guy knows what he’s doing--but _good_. As if they’re friends. Which, Jim has to admit, they are; at least Jim thinks of them that way. It’s nothing like with Spock...but it isn’t _bad_ anymore. And that’s weird.

So Jim carries on feeling strange about the whole thing while Selvek carries on feeling nothing, to all appearances, and one day Jim decides he’s tired of it (and also _Jesus_ he misses Spock) so he stops by Selvek’s station on his way off the bridge.

“Commander, do you play chess?” he asks.

Selvek looks up at him, with zero surprise. “I am familiar with the game.”

“Terrific,” Jim smiles. “Would you care to join me for a friendly match? My quarters, 1500?”

Selvek is silent for a moment; Jim guesses he’s pulling up the day’s duty sheet in that giant brain of his. “Affirmative. Thank you,” he replies.

“Fan-tastic,” Jim grins. “I will see you then.” He turns away, then turns back. “So when you said you were familiar with the game, does that mean you’re actually a grandmaster with a basement full of trophies and the sad remnants of your opponents’ egos?”

“I do not possess a basement. As to my proficiency with chess, I have more than passing knowledge--”

“Yeah, okay, never mind. I get the picture,” Jim says. Chess genius, then--he should’ve figured.

+++

“How long have you been a Vulcan, Selvek?” Jim asks one day. It’s chess night. Selvek is white, and winning.

Selvek responds without raising his head. “Approximately twenty-eight years, ten months, twenty-four da--”

“So you know pretty much everything there is to know about Vulcans, right?”

“Regrettably, I do not. The history of our race extends far--”

“I mean, you know what makes Vulcans tick. How they think,” Jim adds, out of habit. Selvek has never needed translations.

“I do have knowledge of typical Vulcan attitudes and viewpoints,” Selvek returns. “However, I would be unable to identify with respect to any particular individual the specific modes of thought--”

“How would you go about convincing a Vulcan of something?” Jim asks.

“That would depend on the matter at issue,” Selvek answers, without raising a brow or asking to what Jim’s questions tend. Either Spock’s a lot less Vulcan than he’s led everyone to believe, or Jim’s losing his touch.

Jim studies the board, or pretends to. He’s actually thinking about how detailed he should get, whether he should just abort right now, and how the hell he’s already lost a rook and a bishop in the time they’ve been having this conversation.

“It’s hard to explain,” Jim says, picking up a pawn and putting it down again at random. “Here, let’s try a hypothetical.” He leans back and crosses his arms. “The Vulcan believes a set of conditions, known as A, is superior to a different set of conditions, known as B, for a recurring scenario. You know he’s wrong but you have no facts to prove it. What do you do?”

Selvek is considering his next move. He makes it ( _fuck,_ Jim thinks), then replies, “I would obtain data that would serve to clarify the Vulcan’s mistaken understanding.”

“Okay, but what if that data isn’t obtainable? What if it doesn’t even exist?”

“If such data does not appear to exist, I would question my own understanding of the circumstances, and the basis on which I have determined that the Vulcan is incorrect.”

Jim sighs. He knows he’s in it now, that he won’t get any help from Selvek, who’s got to be his best chance, unless he just comes clean. _Thrusters on full._

“Your gut,” he says bluntly. “The basis for your determination is that you know it in your gut. He’s wrong, you’re right--that’s all there is to it.”

“Your hypothetical is formidable, Captain,” Selvek says as he moves a knight. “Under the facts as you have stated them, I cannot comprehend a logical way to convince the Vulcan to adopt my view over his own. Indeed, I cannot comprehend a logical reason I should not, myself, accept his view, as he has likely formed his on the basis of information unknown to me. More facts are necessary in order to accomplish the objective in a logical fashion. Without sufficient data, logic cannot operate.”

Jim draws in a breath and lets it out, bracing himself to dump a shitload of facts on Selvek--

“In the absence of the ability to acquire such data, I would pursue a course of action based on precepts that do not require logic. There are a number of possible avenues that could be explored; however, in a situation in which I have established a viewpoint based on information residing ‘in my gut,’ an appeal to the Vulcan’s emotions may be the most promising.”

Jim stares. His mouth actually falls open, a little bit, because it’s like Selvek’s making a _joke_ , or something, except he isn’t. He doesn’t. There are never any hidden meanings behind Selvek’s words, never any unintended twitches of his eyes or mouth. It’s frustrating--and calming. Jim never has to guess.

“Are you shitting me?” he asks anyway, kind of awestruck by who his first officer is.

“No, Captain,” Selvek answers, his face perfect and logical, as always.

+++

Jim loses the chess match, but he’s feeling good when Selvek gets up to go. “Thank you for an enjoyable time, Captain.”

Jim grins. “Always a pleasure, sir. And hey, do me a favor and call me Jim, all right?”

Selvek nods. “As you wish.”

When he’s gone, Jim looks up at the ceiling, frowning, then grinning, thinking until he’s almost asleep. He starts up suddenly, his body spasming awake, and he pushes up from the chair, staggering over to his desk to call up his viewscreen. He punches in the code, then begins the transmission.

“Hey Spock!” he says, grinning fuzzily at his own face as it records his message. “How are ya, buddy? How’s Kah’ru’kahr coming along? The reports we’ve been getting are good but pitifully brief. At least the last one came with a visual feed--can you get them to release more like that?” Jim smiles, picturing Spock, the Spock of his past, the Spock in his dreams. “Anyway, things here are fine--just got my ass handed to me at chess, Vulcan-style. I gotta say, I liked losing to you better. You were gloatier. You know, in this area right here.” He circles his eyebrows with his hand, and the edges of his mouth soften as he thinks of this.

“Well, sleep tight, Spock. Or, you know, meditate. Tight. Kirk out.” He stifles a yawn, and smiles, and ends the transmission.

**You Might Call It the New Kobayashi Maru.**

Spock is impeccable. His discussion encompasses, among many other subjects, the depth of the water table beneath the proposed site of the auxiliary reservoir, the drilling survey commissioned by the Minister of Industry, the population projections for Vulcans aged 20 to 55, and the construction of gridlines that would serve as foundations for public access roads. The ministers ask penetrating questions from their places, high above where Spock stands, betraying neither approval nor disapproval in their thorough examination of Spock’s work and expectations for the rise of Kah’ru’kahr. The chancellor brings the session to a close hours later, with favorable remarks on Spock’s dedication and no reference to his mother. Spock expresses his gratitude to the Council for their time and means it. Then he returns to his quarters, eluding his aides and any others who might delay him, locks the door, and takes the chair in front of his viewscreen.

He queues up the message, the one that arrived this morning during his preparation for his appointment with the High Council, the one that required him to rebuild his concentration, all his carefully-constructed focus, in a matter of minutes. “Play transmission,” he says, and Jim is beaming at him, looking vaguely drowsy. The image causes lines to form around Spock’s eyes, and he finds himself momentarily preferring verisimilitude to fact, so that Jim may be here, talking to him, in this very room.

+++

“He is coming.”

The Ra’Haleen method of vocal communication involves propelling air through a number of crystalline tubes simultaneously, resulting in a chiming, discordant, and clearly audible sound. Spock can barely register his captor’s voice.

“I find that unlikely,” Spock rasps, struggling to retain consciousness. He is unable to calculate the probability that Captain Kirk will have time to come to assist him, after disabling the Ra’Haleen disruptor network and neutralizing the defensive forces that will be pursuing him, so _unlikely_ will have to do. Spock has had a lifetime of striving to compensate for lack, however, and what he lacks now in armaments, escape routes, and diversionary tactics, he will compensate for, with delay. He will not expire; he will not release this troop of sentries from their duty to watch over him until he is dead.

“Our sensors indicate otherwise,” the lead guard chimes. Spock is unable to comprehend how this could be true--Captain Kirk must disengage many (Spock can’t recall how many but he knew, once) protective mechanisms, layered and redundant and highly sensitive to disturbance, in order to access the main controls of the disruptor network. He must do so alone, without the aid of his crew onboard the Enterprise, which is locked in orbit by the disruptors and cut off from communication. Assuming he succeeds ( _past performance does not guarantee future success,_ Spock thinks), the captain will have the benefit of communications, but transport capabilities will probably not be immediately available, and he will need to find his way past the labyrinth of rock and Ra’Haleen combat forces alone. The captain is alone, because Spock is held here--it is not Spock’s place ( _I can’t do this without you,_ Jim said to him) but Spock has no weapon, no advantage--

“Spock!”

The captain is not alone. He is accompanied by guards, their phaser rifles drawn.

“Captain,” Spock croaks, his vision clearing for an instant to reveal a blur of gold and Jim’s discolored face. He is conscious, but he evidently does not appear to be so; the next moment Jim has descended, fallen around him without touching, breathing on his skin. This causes pain that Spock recognizes but need not feel; the captain is whole, alive, breathing on him. It is proof irrefutable, even to Spock in his severely compromised condition.

He senses the captain’s presence removed, and forces open his eyes. The Ra’Haleen guards have pulled Captain Kirk away. Spock notices they do not secure Captain Kirk’s arms. Then he notices Captain Kirk’s phaser. It is strapped to his side. Perhaps it is damaged, Spock begins to think, starting at a logical premise--the cylindrical features of the lead sentry obscure Spock’s further view.

“In accordance with our law, the law of Ra’Hal most high and Ra’Hesht after Ra’Hal and Ra’Hynh after Ra’Hesht, the law of all faithful to the Ra’Haleen, you, Spock of the Federation, are relinquished from our claim.” The lead sentry declares this in a thin, piping tone, and it is not until he has ceased to speak that Spock understands he was using only the narrowest of his vocal tubes, located under the translucent angle of his jaw. A fragment of memory rises in Spock’s mind--he had studied the Ra’Haleen before their mission commenced--they are called _rhekheel_ , the fine hollow structures extending from the base of the skull to the front, rarely more than five centimeters in diameter and twenty in length. They are used exclusively for--

“A ceremony,” Spock says, croaking. “Captain? What--”

“The Rhul’Khava is complete,” the sentry pipes out. “Prepare him for release,” he orders, returning to the deeper dissonant chime. The sentries move to action, their limbs clanging as they power down the restraints that pinion Spock to the wall. He hears the captain’s outburst ( _be careful!_ ) and senses his imminent proximity to the ground--Captain Kirk is able to partially break the fall.

“You okay?” grunts the captain, hands under Spock’s arms. He’s tugging but he’s attempting to take care; the captain is capable of applying greater pressure than this.

“I pose the same question to you,” Spock replies. He can hardly recognize his own voice.

“I’m fine, buddy,” Jim smiles at him. Spock cannot focus his eyes on Jim’s face; it is too near. “They’re gonna clean you up, put you on a shuttle. I need you to get to the nearest Federation outpost, okay? Can you do that for me?”

Spock feels the captain’s fingers tighten slightly in his sides, against his heart. “There will be insufficient time for me to summon aid,” he says.

Jim looks at him, his smile lengthening--but he is unhappy, wistful, he feels sorrow, regret at his loss, concern, deep concern for Spock, hope and relief for Spock. Spock’s eyes close; he fights to resurrect his mental walls.

“Get to the nearest Federation outpost, okay?” he hears the captain say. “Spock?” Spock’s thoughts are fragile--he is maintaining his hold on his barriers, his consciousness, his self-control, and Jim. He opens his eyes.

“That’s an order, Commander,” Captain Kirk says. Jim’s eyes blur blue as he shifts and he breathes and they are touching, their faces, Jim’s jaw or mouth to Spock’s temple; he cannot tell what because the psi-points there flash, breaking free from Spock’s so-tenuous grasp, and he _feels--_

\--his body wrenched from the captain, the ground, he is jerked fully upright by a Ra’Haleen sentry.

“Access code, Captain,” chimes the lead sentry.

“He needs medical attention. Now.” The captain is angry, Spock is able to discern.

“The Rhul’Khava is complete,” the lead sentry replies. His chimes are loud and more discordant than before. “You will provide the first access code as agreed, or you void the terms--and the _rhul’hat’kun_ dies.”

 _Rhul’hat’kun._ Spock recalls the term, because it is a common theme among many humanoid species, the concept embodied by _rhul’hat’kun_. Its existence has given rise, for the Ra’Haleen, to the Rhul’Khava. _A rite of exchange,_ the readout on Spock’s padd had informed him, _requiring the relinquishment of all claims held by the rhe’van to the rhe’visu; and the relinquishment of the claim held by the rhe’visu in the rhul’hat’kun._

“Authorization code delta three oh beta seven one five. Captain James Tiberius Kirk,” says the captain, in raised tones. He is very angry, as is Spock, who has suddenly, blindingly, realized what has been done. The captain has given the Ra’Haleen sentry the correct access code to initiate a tie-in to the Enterprise’s communications systems, the first step to establishing a remote link to other functions--shields, warp drive, weapons. Further codes will be required. Spock knows they will be given.

It is the Rhul’Khava. The captain has exchanged the ship (his crew, himself) for _rhul’hat’kun_. For Spock.

+++

When Spock emerges from tow-kath, he does so all at once, in a rush. His eyes blink open; he is disoriented. It is a novel sensation. One is not meant to catapult from tow-kath into the fullness of consciousness, but he has, for some reason. Spock blinks at the ceiling, then lifts his torso from the biobed.

Jim is immediately at his side.

“You’re awake!” His hand comes out and hovers, before settling on the biobed. “How was the trance? Good? You all set? Do you have any idea how hard it is to run a ship without a first officer?”

Spock looks at Jim’s wide grin. His teeth are very white; his eyes are very blue, and he appears to be exuding the emotion that humans term ‘glee.’ His touseled appearance, along with the statistical improbability that official duty or random chance would place him in sickbay, in close proximity to this specific biobed, at the precise moment of Spock’s awakening, is indicative.

“I would venture a guess that running a ship without a captain is significantly more difficult.” Spock’s voice is rough, deep; he swallows and observes Captain Kirk’s smile extend. The captain laughs.

“I missed you,” he says. Then he grins, and gazes at Spock. It is unusual for the captain to observe another person silently for so long.

Spock counts a full thirty-nine seconds before Captain Kirk’s mouth opens. “You--”

“Welcome back, Mr. Spock.” Dr. McCoy appears from the far end of the room, medscanner in hand. “How do you feel? Any nausea? Pain? Memory loss?”

Spock faces McCoy as he runs the scan. “None, Doctor. I am well.”

McCoy’s eyes are directed at his scanner; he’s frowning skeptically. “You came out of that trance awfully quick. I thought it wore off in stages. M’Benga was even telling me to get my foam bat ready--said I might need to beat you out of it.”

Spock inclines his head. “Generally, the healing trance ends in a more gradual manner; however, I do not believe there is any reason for concern. I am fully recovered, I trust?”

McCoy’s frown deepens. “Vulcan physiology is a goddamn freak of nature--if I didn’t know better I’d have said there was no way you could’ve had a ruptured lung, four broken ribs, multiple fractures in the left and right tibula--on top of head trauma and severe loss of blood--only four days ago.” He clicks off the scanner and looks up, the frown clearing. “It’s not right, by my book. I want you to report back tomorrow, and you tell me immediately if there’s any funny business, anywhere. Especially if you experience anything screwy up in there,” he points at Spock’s forehead.

Spock raises a brow. “I shall endeavor to do so,” he answers.

“Good. Now get out.” He jerks his head toward the doors, with a faint smile.

Spock twists from the biobed and stands. “Thank you, Doctor.”

“Yeah, thanks, Bones,” Captain Kirk says. Spock observes the doctor give Captain Kirk a look that he cannot identify.

“Don’t mention it,” McCoy replies. The captain simply grins and turns to Spock.

“Can I walk you home, Commander?”

Captain Kirk’s expression is openly warm; attractive. Spock has observed the captain using it in the presence of his crew, his superiors, and non-hostile individuals generally. It is, Spock has found, quite engaging. It is an effective tool for the captain.

Spock nods and watches Jim’s grin brighten. He does not wish to perform the task that lies in store, the task his mind prepared for, even as his body healed. _Your actions were not logical,_ he will be required to say. _You determined to sacrifice the lives of hundreds, for the chance that one might survive._

Captain Kirk will protest; he will advance a rationale--likely several rationales--for his behavior. They may withstand Starfleet’s scrutiny, but they will not withstand Spock’s. There are certain facts in Spock’s possession, which he is not obligated to disclose in a report, which he has learned via telepathy that he did not intend to use, which compel him, morally, to leave this ship.

Spock does not wish to leave Jim. He does not speak as they walk from sickbay to the turbolift, from the turbolift to his quarters. Jim does, gesturing, his features lit with emotion as he briefs Spock on the tumultuous events of their escape from the Ra’Halanian system--on Scotty’s coupling of warp coils while injecting a stream of neutrons into the dilithium articulation frame, causing it to trigger the beginnings of a jump to warp speed, breaking the orbital lock, enabling the Enterprise to locate their coordinates through the jamming signal, allowing the crew to retrieve Spock, from where he sat alone in the Ra’Haleen shuttle, and Jim, from the containment field where he watched it pull out of dock.

Spock walks beside Jim, and listens.

**Bones Has Your Back. Or At Least, Your Brandy.**

They’re still two months out from the best assignment Jim’s going to have in his whole career to date and Jim can’t stop his mind from wandering to it at every lull in the action. Reviewing duty rosters is probably the lull-most of all possible lulls--but as the captain, he recognizes the need to at least appear faintly embarrassed when Selvek’s polite _Jim_ sounds much closer than usual. He blinks, jerking to attention. Selvek’s right next to him, padd in hand.

“Sorry,” Jim smiles apologetically, quickly shifting his eyes to the proposed rotation. “I was just thinking about our upcoming mission to New Vulcan.”

“Indeed?”

Jim nods, skimming over the list of names. “This looks good--except let’s move Alpheira to Delta; I haven’t seen him with Tyler and Xeraluk for awhile. Who can we switch out?”

Selvek consults his own padd and makes some adjustments. “Lieutenant Irfhan can assume Lieutenant Alpheria’s currently-assigned duties.”

“I meant to get out there much sooner, maybe while on shore leave...” he trails off, his mind suddenly filled with Spock and the way he’d imagined they’d go together, see the new homeworld of Spock’s race for the first time together. “Better late than never, I guess.” Jim pauses and re-focuses his gaze on Selvek. “You’ve been before, right? To New Vulcan?”

He asks it casually, looking away to pick up another padd. It’s a courtesy Selvek doesn’t seem to need.

“I have not,” Selvek answers steadily, as if they’re talking about Ceti V or Omicron III or any of the millions of planets in the known universe. Jim glances at him, surprised; he smiles to cover it, and shoves aside the realization that Selvek probably has no one in particular to visit on New Vulcan.

“Good,” Jim says, half-grinning. ”Then I won’t be alone.”

“Affirmative,” Selvek replies, taking the random padd Jim picked up and putting the right one in its place.

+++

They’re a week away from their mission to New Vulcan, to assist with a survey of Mu2 Octantis e, a neighboring planet that has shown indications of being more than just another pretty celestial object in the night sky, when Bones catches Jim after dinner, as he’s leaving the mess.

“Hey,” he says, clasping Jim’s shoulder. “You got a minute to come down to sickbay?”

Jim looks over, wondering what’s up, but nods. “Sure,” he says, stepping into the turbolift after the doctor. When they get there, Bones makes straight for his cabinet and pulls out the Saurian brandy.

“Should I be worried?” Jim asks as Bones pours it out.

Bones hands Jim a big brandy and administers himself a healthy dose of his own before he meets Jim’s eyes. “Are you prepared to leave without him?” he asks bluntly.

Jim holds his glass. “What?”

Bones grimaces and takes another giant swallow. “In a few days you’re going down to New Vulcan; you’re going to put on a big song and dance for Spock about how much everyone here misses him, not that that’ll do a lick of good, and how much more efficiently everything runs with him around, which also won’t do a lick of good. It’ll last five days, or however long the damn survey’s supposed to go, and then you’re going pop the question and ask him to come back. Are you prepared to leave without him?”

Jim’s grip tightens on his glass. Bones pours himself another.

“What are you talking about?” Jim says, trying for brush-off casual. Bones’ face says the bullshit isn’t sticking. “Bones, there’s no--I’m not planning any kind of song or dance, okay?” Jim grins. “It’s not a bad idea, though--maybe we can ask Uhura.”

Bones snorts, managing to somehow gulp down more brandy as he does so. “Jimbo,” he starts, probably because he knows Jim hates that, “I don’t have to be a telepath to know what you’re thinking--I’m your fucking friend, remember? Lord only knows why. I know you want him back. I know he was more than just your first officer--”

Jim jerks a little at that and quickly takes a sip. The brandy burns along his throat as Bones continues, his eyes boring into Jim.

“--he’s also your friend. Even more astonishing, I think he feels the same way about you...though he’s probably incapable of admitting it except under torture.” Bones pauses. “Maybe not even then.”

Jim smiles faintly. He seriously doubts Spock feels the same way out him as he feels about Spock. “Thanks, Bones. Great pep talk. Is there a point?”

“Have you actually thought this through?” Bones replies abruptly. He’s almost at the end of his second brandy. “What about Selvek? You can’t bring Spock back on as first--”

“We could use a senior science officer,” Jim says, trying to temper his sudden spike of frustration.

“Is that so? Well what if Spock just doesn’t want to come back? We both know he didn’t just take off on a whim--I doubt he’s ever had a whim in his life. The fact that he left at all means--”

“It means I’ve got to give him another reason to change his mind,” Jim interrupts, throat moving past the heat of his drink.

“Oh yeah? And what’s that gonna be? You gonna build eight new science labs on board? Gonna promise to start following standard protocol and stop getting yourself half-killed every time you set foot on a new planet when that damn foot’s supposed to be on the bridge of this ship? Or what? I’m telling you, Jim, Spock’s seen your hand and the cards don’t look--”

“I’ll think of something,” Jim says, and he can’t conceal the edge in it. Which is too bad, because Bones goes quiet for a second; his brow slants up slightly before easing back down.

Bones looks down into his glass and seems to notice he can see the bottom. He fills it back up, and they both listen as the liquor streams lightly from the decanter.

“You’ve got something up your sleeve, I know,” Bones finally says, lowly. “All I’m saying is, what if it’s not the ace you think it is?”

He doesn’t look at Jim, choosing instead to frown at the half-empty decanter. Jim tilts the last of his brandy into his mouth and holds it there, staring hard at Bones, as if he can divine, by sight alone, just how much Bones knows.

At last Bones looks up, his expression as close to entreaty as his face can physically get. It’s in the form of a grimace, but the lines are soft, and Jim realizes that if the rest of his crew knew him as well as Bones does, he’d be in some serious shit.

“I’m your doctor,” Bones says, heavily. “It’s my job to keep you in good working condition--”

“Look, his assignment on New Vulcan’s going to be for another couple of months,” Jim says, putting his glass down on Bones’ desk. “So obviously, he’s not going anywhere anytime soon. And quit worrying over nothing—save the theatrics for when we’re fighting actual bad guys.” He offers a sideways smile. For a second, Bones just looks at him with that same awful _don’t do this kid_ look--then abruptly, he rolls his eyes, back to normal.

“Fine,” Bones grumbles, putting his glass down too. “But we’d better get more Saurian brandy from somewhere before we get to New Vulcan--I’m not going to have enough for the both of us if there’s any kind of fallout from whatever insanity you’re planning.”

“Bones! Not that I’m planning anything, but if I were, I’m shocked that you still don’t think I can pull it off!” Jim sucks in a breath and flashes his grin. “We saved _Earth,_ buddy!”

Bones just shakes his head and returns the remaining brandy to his cabinet. Jim makes a mental note to arrange a stop at Base Station 18, for more.

+++

The Big Day is a Thursday; Jim can hardly sit still. He swivels in his command chair, all the way around, and spins it around again, waiting until he faces the viewscreen head-on. There are only stars there; they’ll give way to the dusky stripes of New Vulcan soon. He can’t wait anymore.

“Lieutenant Uhura, open up a channel to Federation Outpost 4, New Vulcan, Management of Urban Resources and Affairs Department.”

“Aye sir.”

“Smile, everyone,” Jim says.

“Channel open, sir.”

“On screen.”

Jim’s heart bounds, harder than he’d expected, when Spock’s face lights up the main viewer. It freezes Jim’s Spock-ready grin--he can’t think, he can’t move--he wants to reach out and _touch_. He gets out of the chair slowly ( _“Out of the chair,”_ Spock had said)--everything fucking hurts. Then his instincts kick in.

“Hey Spock! What’s up? It’s Jim! And the rest of the gang!” he says brightly. “I just wanted to let you know we’ll be in orbit in...” He glances at Sulu.

“3.27 hours, sir.”

“3.27 hours! I was hoping to swing by your office after we dock--around 1500? Sound okay to you? Thought we could get a head start on mission prep.”

“Captain,” says Spock, sounding as if he never left. It makes Jim swallow. “I will be attending the banquet at the Tvi-Shal; perhaps we could discuss the survey of Mu2 octantis e at that time. I regret that I am engaged with other matters until then.”

Jim makes a show of frowning. “You sure about that?”

Spock raises a brow--Jim almost laughs. _I missed that!_ he thinks, almost says out loud. _I missed you._ He watches Spock lean to the left of the frame--there’s Vulcan murmuring out of view of the commlink--then Spock’s face re-centers.

“It appears my appointments have been re-scheduled due to unforeseen circumstances, as of a few minutes ago.” The eyebrow is still up; Jim has no clue whether Spock is pleased or displeased. “Therefore, I will be able to accede to your request.” Spock’s eyes circle the bridge briefly; they seem to pause beside Jim, where Selvek stands. “Is there anything further?” he asks, returning to Jim’s gaze with unflinching composure.

Something twinges in Jim at the distance in Spock’s demeanor--he’s become more Vulcan, Jim realizes. Jim pushes it aside and keeps his smile big. “That’s it,” he replies, shaking his head. “We’ll be there at 1500. Can’t wait.”

Spock nods as if he doesn’t see the look on Jim’s face.

“Kirk out.” The screen reverts to stars. Jim bites back his exhale and sits back down, carefully. “Well, that was short,” he says under his breath to Selvek, keeping his tone light.

“I assume Commander Spock had nothing further to say to the bridge of the Enterprise,” Selvek responds.

Jim tightens his grip on the arms of his chair. “Yeah. Guess not.”

**Home Is Where the Heart Is.**

When Jim and his crew are beamed down, he seems to move toward Spock before his atoms have fully re-materialized. “Spock!” he calls--and Spock, unable to resist, steps forward.

“Captain,” he says, for that is all he can perceive.

Were Spock to attempt it, he would be utterly incapable (beyond his own expectations) of articulating the emotion (it is longing and anxiety and _at last_ and it is none of these things, they are insufficient) within him. Jim seems to radiate light, and joy. Spock can only say that which he knows to be true.

“I am pleased to see you.”

Jim comes quickly to him, grinning, arms swinging. Slowly, the earth, the air becomes known to Spock again.

+++

At the banquet given in the ceremonial hall of the High Council’s chambers, Spock’s attention is required by ministers and delegates and prominent Starfleet officials. It is not required by Captain Kirk or the members of his crew accompanying him. As a result, Spock converses with Councillor Tuurvik regarding the soil condition in several sectors, with Admiral Komack regarding the development of the current cadet class, and with Ambassador Tomlinson regarding the history of the Non-Interference Directive. He does not have the opportunity to speak with Captain Kirk before they are seated for dinner (Spock is placed between his father and a senior delegate; Jim is not at his table), nor does such an opportunity present itself following the various speeches. He is, however, at liberty to visually observe Captain Kirk, and he does so, throughout the evening’s proceedings. He observes the captain observing Spock, on six occasions (Spock acknowledges the interchange with a brief nod; averting his eyes would be illogical). He observes the captain eating (it seems he has acquired something more than a tolerance for Vulcan cuisine). He observes the captain interacting with his officers (he laughs most frequently in response to Doctor McCoy; he listens most intently to Nyota; he turns most often to Commander Selvek).

The captain’s expression, when he discourses with the commander, is of particular interest to Spock. It is--difficult to describe. Spock must observe it, repeatedly--and there is no lack of opportunity here. There is a certain degree of--warmth, when Captain Kirk speaks with him, a look well-known to Spock. The captain trusts Selvek, as his first officer, and as a friend. This should not be a surprising development. Spock is aware that Selvek is an impressive individual--an individual whom Spock met once or twice at the Academy, who by all accounts is eminently qualified for his position. (Selvek was not accepted to the Vulcan Science Academy. This is irrelevant, but it crosses Spock’s mind.) Spock understands the commander must serve Captain Kirk well. It should be a reassuring thought, to know that Jim has the resources he needs, and it is--but Spock finds himself discomfited by it. Only when he calls to mind Jim’s expression when he first arrived on New Vulcan and saw Spock, waiting, does Spock regain his equilibrium.

It is, Spock thinks, an unfortunate situation.

The first guests are leaving when Spock has the opportunity to speak with Jim again. Their earlier conversation had gone much as Spock had expected--Jim had been eager to talk, and surrounded by his senior staff. Spock had been gratified to see them as well, and pleasantries were exchanged. Jim had stood beside him, pressing a hand to his arm, and Spock had briefed the group on a few changes to their plans to survey New Vulcan’s most promising sister planet. Spock had talked and talked, as if he were still one of them, a crew member, their first officer, and they had listened as if that were so, none more attentively than their captain.

Spock sees Jim edge away, laughing politely, from a cluster of Starfleet admirals, and make a determined beeline toward the refreshment--only to veer off, mid-course. He watches Jim look around, scanning the remaining crowd, and Spock’s feet are in motion, propelling him toward Jim without conscious thought. He is waylaid, however, by T’Kran, one of the members of the High Council, and is obligated to engage in a discussion regarding proposed revisions to the curriculum being adopted by the first learning center of Kah’ru’kahr. 9.86 minutes tick by before Spock can reasonably extricate himself from the Elder. When Spock turns around, Jim is no longer in view.

Spock moves in the direction that Jim had been walking, and finds him.

He is standing before the high arch of a windowframe, previously hidden by the curvature of the Council’s chamber walls. His arms are crossed against the luster of his dress uniform, and his neck is angled upward as he looks out to the sky.

“I’d never been to Vulcan,” Spock hears Jim say. “Was it a lot like this?”

“Mu2 Octantis c has a comparable surface gravity and surface temperature, as well as a similar atmospheric composition,” Commander Selvek replies. “I understand the humidity level in the habitable regions is approximately 5% higher, and the average annual precipitation is generally expected to be between 6% and 10% greater.”

“So, a little wetter, but otherwise a pretty good match.”

“Correct.”

There’s a pause and it causes Spock to recognize that he is eavesdropping on Starfleet officers--admittedly, they are speaking in a public place and do not appear to be discussing sensitive subjects, but it is a breach of both etiquette and logic to remain, listening, without making his presence known. He begins to turn away--he will be on-board the Enterprise tomorrow, there will be other opportunities to talk--when Jim speaks again.

“Does it feel like home?”

Spock’s step is arrested as he hears Commander Selvek reply, “No, Jim, it does not.”

There is silence, and then _Yeah._ Jim’s sigh is so light his own inhalation would obscure it, and in his mind Spock can see Jim’s sympathetic eyes, his sympathetic hand stretching out to reassure where no reassurance was requested, but was needed all the same...

Spock’s steps are measured as he walks away, to return to Sarek, who is waiting with his aides.

+++

“You are troubled.”

The Ambassador, Spock thinks, is unlikely to be said to put too fine a point upon a fact. It is an admirable characteristic. “Captain Kirk’s presence on New Vulcan,” Spock replies, “has provoked an emotional response from me that requires some effort to control.” He states it as baldly as possible, despite the obvious gentleness in the Ambassador’s face. Spock wonders, again, that he could be so willingly expressive (human!), in any reality.

“As it should,” the Ambassador tells him. Spock can actually hear the kindness in his voice. “Jim has that sort of effect on most beings he encounters. His friends are, for better or for worse, not exempt.” The corners of his eyes crinkle, lending them an appearance of even greater age.

The Ambassador’s obvious ease with Jim’s effect on others causes Spock’s gaze to turn a shade darker. “I confess I am disappointed,” Spock replies, “in myself.” He attempts to make it sound not too pointed.

The Ambassador merely nods, his eyes floating shut for a moment, as if in amusement. “There is no shame in feeling friendship,” he says quietly. “I hope you will learn this, in time.”

“That may be so,” Spock replies, keeping his eyes on the Ambassador’s. It is becoming increasingly challenging to maintain his equanimity, with the Ambassador’s feelings so openly displayed. “And yet, friendship can result in consequences that are far more severe than any potentially misplaced sense of shame--consequences that cannot be anticipated or controlled, should such a friendship develop into an emotional attachment of a more serious nature.”

“Spock, you already know what it is to permit friendship to become something more,” the Ambassador says gently. Spock is at pains to conceal the leap of aggravation he feels--it seems Jim has confided in the Ambassador. Spock hadn’t thought they kept in communication, although he should have surmised it. Jim would speak of the Ambassador, from time to time; always, it was fondly.

Before he can voice the question, the Ambassador says, “I refer, of course, to your relationship with Lieutenant Uhura. You began as friends, did you not?”

“Affirmative,” Spock answers stiffly. “However, as I assume you are unaware of the specific facts surrounding--”

“Yes, yes, I am unaware, and I do not require to be made aware,” the Ambassador interrupts. Spock finds himself experiencing a distinct dislike for this alternate aged version of himself. The Ambassador returns Spock’s unwavering gaze with a comprehension and forbearance that only serve to irritate Spock further.

“I am not unfamiliar with the conflict you feel,” he says slowly. “I, too, chose the comfort of logic when faced with the disorder of humanity and its seldom-controlled emotions. I have occasionally regretted this decision--but I do not believe I would choose otherwise if given the chance to do so. I told you once to do what feels right. Perhaps this is an occasion on which you might do what feels”--he pauses--“counterintuitive, at the present, and trust in your captain, despite whatever it is that he has done.”

Spock considers these words momentarily. Captain Kirk is no longer his captain.

“Thank you, Ambassador,” he says, rising. “I am grateful for your counsel, as always.”

“We all have a first, best destiny,” the Ambassador says. Carefully, he, too, rises to his feet. “Whatever yours may be, I know that mine was serving with Jim.”

Spock looks at him silently. _The concept of destiny is illogical,_ he wants to say. “I believe I have absorbed a sufficient portion of your time this evening,” he says instead. “Live long, and prosper.” He lifts his palm in the ta’al.

The Ambassador merely nods, as if Spock’s annoyance and haste are entirely transparent. “Peace, and long life,” he returns with a vague semblance of a smile, raising his hand to match Spock’s gesture.

+++

**If Death Wishes Were Horses, Jim Kirk Would Never Walk Again.**

“Okay, team, remember the next ion front is headed over the region as early as 1600, so we’ve got about four hours before we have to rendezvous at the homing beacons, to be on the safe side,” Jim says as the away team steps onto the transporter pad. They’re mostly Vulcan--Selvek and Spock, T’Mok and Ryvek, Spock’s aides from the outpost. Aside from Jim, the only non-Vulcan beaming down is Lieutenant Yax, their acting chief science officer, who looks just about as thrilled as Jim feels to be beaming down with her former department head. Jim watches Spock take up a position in the back before he steps up himself, beside Selvek.

“Good to go?” He looks over his shoulder, his glance sweeping over the team before resting on Spock. He waits until Spock gives him the infinitesimal nod.

“Affirmative,” Selvek says, next to him. Jim turns to the front; Selvek’s facing straight forward.

“Energize,” Jim commands.

+++

They don’t get to explore Sector 1 of Mu2 Octantis e together, because Spock lifted his brow when Jim suggested they go in three groups of two (“Me and you, Selvek and Ryvek, Yax and T’Mok--it’ll be perfect and we’ll cover more ground!”) and pointed out that the scientific instruments that had been specifically designed for the survey would require three people to operate, one of whom should be experienced in doing so. So Jim gets to smile and clap a hand to Spock’s shoulder and tell him, “Be safe.”

Spock nods, adjusting his pack. “You as well,” he replies, giving Jim that not-quite-smile. Jim can’t help but grin; he can tell Spock’s excited about finally being here, on the first trip out to one of New Vulcan’s sister planets.

“See you back here in four,” Jim says. “Alert us immediately if you encounter anything unexpected!” he calls out, as Spock turns to lead Yax and T’Mok in the opposite direction. Jim goes to join Selvek and Ryvek, who’s already whipped out a fancy-looking scanner and is busy making calculations.

“Captain, if you would assist me,” Ryvek says, without looking up.

“What, already? We’re still at the beam-down point!”

“Yes; a logical place to begin with our survey, given these readings,” Ryvek replies. He punches some buttons on the scanner while sliding his pack off. Selvek is looking at the display over Ryvek’s shoulder.

“Captain, I concur,” Selvek says. He removes his own pack and starts taking out the shiny new components for geological measurement and mineral detection.

Jim sighs, and shrugs off his pack.

“The initial readings indicated a scattered field of mineral deposits lies beneath the surface in this immediate area,” Selvek says. “We will need to take additional data to ascertain their profiles, but it may be a form of dilithium.”

Jim snorts as he pulls out a telescoping mechanism. “You’re just saying that to cheer me up.”

“Incorrect,” Selvek answers, assembling the detector. “I also said it because it is true.”

+++

Almost four hours later, Jim’s lost track of time, and it’s Selvek who draws their attention to the fact that they will need to return to the beam-down point soon.

“Oh, okay--wow, is that the time.” Jim snaps his chronometer shut and crouches to reposition the magnetometer. “Are you getting it, Ryvek?”

“Affirmative,” Ryvek says, tapping swiftly on his padd.

“Captain--”

“Let’s just finish this, and then I want to check out the rock formations up ahead. Just a preliminary look,” Jim adds quickly, speaking over the objection he can see forming on Selvek’s face, “so we can enhance the parameters of the survey in that area next time.”

“I do not believe we will have sufficient time to conduct an examination of those rock formations to your satisfaction.”

“We’ll have time. Come on, Ryvek, back me up on this.” Jim’s grin goes unappreciated; Ryvek is fully occupied by the readings. Jim suspects he’s missing out and scoots over to Ryvek, glancing up at Selvek as he does so. “Preliminary, Selvek. Cursory. We’ll just take a very quick peek and then we’ll go back. I promise.” He bends over Ryvek’s padd--it really _does_ look like dilithium this time!--and barely registers his first officer’s assent.

+++

It turns out Selvek is right (surprise) and they have to hotfoot it back in a major way to be within an acceptable range of “reasonably late.”

“Kirk to Spock,” Jim pants out as he runs, and man does he love saying that again.

“Spock here--is everything all right, Captain?”

“Yeah, oh yeah,” Jim pants. “Just, you know, trying to be reasonably late.” There’s a pause on the other end. It feels expectant. Jim grins and raises his communicator again. “We got kinda caught up in taking data so we might not be there at exactly 1400--I’m pushing us as fast as we can go, but the speed on these Vulcans--I have to be honest, they’re holding me back.” His laugh comes out as a series of pants. Many lengths ahead, Selvek and Ryvek are striding along, their impassive faces unclouded by sweat each time they look back to check on Jim’s progress.

“I see. I am unclear as to the need for your haste; we still have two hours before the earliest ion front is expected to approach. How distant is your present location from the homing beacons?”

“Not too far,” Jim pants. “But I promised Selvek that we’d make it back--”

And that’s when Jim discovers the sinkhole.

+++

Jim’s first instinct is the same as anyone else’s--he sucks in a big fat lungful of what’s supposed to be air the second he feels the ground give beneath him, and gets a face full of lukewarm dirt instead. _Fuck_ he thinks as his adrenal glands go haywire, kicking out his feet and arms in a search for something solid. His communicator falls away as his hands splay out, hitting dirt dirt dirt and nothing at all to _breathe_. He’s twisting, pushing, his eyes are jammed shut and his chest is burning now; he wants to cough up the earth wedged in his nose and throat. The harder he arcs the worse it feels--then he gets the vague sense of weight, thinning around him; the warm wall (getting warmer) shifts back when he strikes at it. He feels room at his feet, a loosening resistance there, as if--

He _falls,_ hard, on his left foot. There’s a sharp pain, like lightning--Jim can tell from the way his gut clenches in that split second that his ankle’s broken. It doesn’t matter though--what matters is that he spits out the dirt and coughs and coughs and coughs, so he can wheeze a hot breath in and wheeze out a loud “Fuck!”

He’s wiped the dirt off his face and he’s looking around--not getting up, not moving except to turn his dirtied head. He’s on a pile of dirt and sand, from the surface, which is still trickling down near him with an ominous hourglass rustle, and he’s in a cavern.

The only reason Jim knows any of this, though the cavern should be completely dark and totally unknowable, is that there’s something on the floor and ceiling and every curving wall, and it’s faintly glowing.

+++

Up on the surface, Spock is panicking. The fact that he merely attempts to regain contact through his communicator (“Spock to Captain Kirk. Spock to Captain Kirk.”) rather than dashing wildly through the sand in the direction Jim’s team should be coming from does not change the fact of his panic. When the next seconds bring only static to his ear, he turns the dial on his unit and tries Commander Selvek instead. “Spock to Commander Selvek. Please respond.”

That works.

In two succinct sentences, Commander Selvek relays what he knows. Captain Kirk appears to be trapped beneath the exterior; there is no trace of him beyond the disturbance in the sand. Sensors did not, and do not, indicate any subterranean features of interest, nor any life signs other than Selvek’s and Ryvek’s own in the immediate vicinity. Commander Selvek gives his coordinates, then orders everyone to return to the ship.

“Ryvek, join the rest of the team at the beam-up point,” Spock hears him say. “Selvek to Enterprise.”

“Enterprise here,” comes Nyota’s voice. She is tense; Spock knows the ship is monitoring their movements. “I was able to pick up your communication to Spock--our sensors aren’t getting anything on the captain either. It might be the oncoming ion front—it’s headed your way, and early.”

“I will attempt to retrieve Captain Kirk from beneath the surface. Prepare to beam up four members of the landing party as soon as Ryvek joins them at the rendezvous. Alert Dr. McCoy and Lieutenant Commander Tellix’s security team; they are required at my location urgently.” Commander Selvek delivers the instructions rapidly but calmly, as if pressed for time regarding matters other than the preservation of his captain’s life. Spock is impressed and, he must acknowledge, a small part resentful, at Selvek’s complete control. _He has not served with Jim as long as I have,_ Spock thinks, even as he panics, even as he formulates a plan for returning to the planet with Dr. McCoy and the security team.

“Acknowledged,” Lieutenant Uhura replies.

“Selvek out.”

+++

Jim can’t walk, but he hasn’t forgotten how to crawl. After what feels like forever, he makes it off the giant pile of sand (dammit, his ankle is killing him) and gingerly tests the eerie greenish glow of the cavern floor with his fingertips. It’s sort of spongy--very warm, almost hot. He presses down a little harder, watching the glow blur around the edges of his skin. It feels--like the rec room floor, Jim realizes abruptly through the light buzzing in his head. Firm with a bizarre kind of springiness underneath. Slowly, he rests his weight on his palm, and when nothing happens, he presses the other palm down too.

“Huh,” he says, and starts to cough. The air is thick and stifling here, even though his passageways are cleared of dirt. There’s something in it, an odor Jim can’t place, that makes it tough to breathe. Jim’s hacking subsides, and he notices how very quiet it is in the cavern--

There’s a sudden rushing sound and Jim jumps and twists and hits his ankle and yells in the span of a second. The pile of sand he left behind is growing a friend--a thick waterfall of darkness, obscuring the glow, is cascading from above, fat and fast and echoing loudly off the walls. It lasts maybe a minute, then Jim’s mouth opens as a humanoid shape flies by, smacking into the dirt with a muffled thump. Jim sucks in a breath to call as sand continues to pour down--and can only cough.

He’s still coughing when the person’s head and shoulders emerge from the dark mass of dirt.

“Spock!” Jim shouts, except it sounds more like _ack!_ and Jim’s lungs are burning with each heaving breath. Spock’s silhouette lengthens and he pulls himself from the pile and Jim’s chest is compressing, from the bad air and Spock.

“Jim!” the Vulcan calls. “Are you injured?” He moves swiftly toward him.

“Hey,” Jim calls, sounding breathy. “My hero,” he breathes, grinning. It’s difficult to see anything beyond his outline, blotted black against the odd green glow of the walls, but Jim has no doubt Spock can see just fine. “I’m not too bad; think I busted my ankle, that’s all.”

Spock is clearly in complete health as he crouches next to Jim. He’s flipped open a scanner and is running it over Jim’s ankle, then the rest of him.

“What are you doing here? And where the hell are we?” Jim asks. “And can we beam out?”

“We are in a previously undetected cave,” Spock replies, now scanning the floor around Jim, “which seems to exhibit features akin to bioluminescence. Readings cannot confirm whether the source of the light comprises a life form or forms, and whether the light source is responsible for generating the toxins that appear to be present here.” He clicks a button on the scanner and sets it down at the same time he produces his communicator. “Enterprise, come in.”

The communicator crackles, then goes silent. He tries again. And again.

“Can we boost the signal strength with parts from the scanner?” Jim asks, shaking his head in an effort to clear it. It feels darker to him, heavier; he squints at the ground, then up at Spock, whom he can sense more than see.

“Perhaps,” Spock replies. He looks around. “You were in possession of your communicator upon entry?”

“Think so; it’s kind of a blur. I thought I had it in my hand.” Jim starts to crawl back to the dirt pile he came from, to start searching, but he feels a hand come lightly around his arm. Spock gets up from beside Jim and goes to Jim’s dirt, the scanner open, and starts circling.

“So everyone else is safely back to the ship?” Jim asks. His lungs are catching flame.

“I instructed Ryvek to return to the rendezvous point; the Enterprise should have beamed them up by now. They are also sending Dr. McCoy and a security team to my last coordinates on the surface. I expect they will arrive there shortly.”

“Old habits, huh?” Jim says, trying to hide his convulsive swallow. Technically, he thinks through the fast-spawning fuzz in his brain, Spock shouldn’t even be here. He puts his head back and closes his eyes, vaguely wondering if he can dig up some reg that’ll justify keeping Spock a little longer--an internal inquiry, off the record...? Because he’s got some questions for Spock, oh yeah he does...

Spock bends down, a few feet from the far edge of where Jim landed. “I have located your communicator,” he says, raising his head and coming back toward Jim. “Unfortunately, it has suffered damage.”

Jim starts to push himself to his feet, but Spock quickly drops into a crouch in front of him. “Do not attempt to stand; you may worsen your injury.” Then he holds out the communicator, and Jim sinks back down.

“Huh. How fucked are we?” Jim asks wheezily, eyeing a vaguely glinting dark lump that he can only assume constitutes the twisted remains of his communicator.

“It may be possible to salvage the amplification circuitry,” Spock replies, breaking the dangling cover off. He’s inspecting the innards, lowering his head a little closer to the device. “You appear to be in some pain.”

“I’ll live,” Jim replies. He clears his throat, trying to swallow past the next cough. After a moment, he decides to try leaning against the hot spongy lump at his back and closing his eyes.

“That is my intention,” Spock replies, sounding strangely far off. “We will need to find a way out in the very near term. Your respiratory system is evidently deteriorating; you may be suffering other effects I cannot determine at present.” His fingers are jerking at something in the communicator--strands of tennenite that are normally coiled around the receptors, Jim guesses blurrily, though he can’t see any of it.

“What about you? How come you’re not--” Jim stops to breathe. It’s seriously burning now.

“The toxins are affecting me as well,” Spock answers, popping the back off his own communicator, “at a much more gradual rate. I assume our differing physiology has some bearing on that. Dr. McCoy will no doubt have an opinion on the matter.” He pauses to concentrate on winding the tennenite around the receptors in the undamaged unit. “And will likely share that opinion with both of us.”

 _Got that right,_ Jim wants to say, except it’s not quite worth it. He swallows instead and squeezes his eyes more tightly. It’s getting worse; Jim tries to focus on the sound of Spock working, the reassuring clicks and clacks of his fingers in the circuits. He thinks of those fingers and what Bones had said, and the heat in his throat, the pressure in his eyes decides it. He reaches out blindly, toward the metallic noises, and finds Spock.

“Hey,” Jim breathes through the tearing sensation in his chest. He’s sweating, but he forces his fingertips to skate, lightly, once, down the slope of Spock’s hand. “It’s great to have you back, Spock.”

The hand beneath his stiffens as Jim’s fingers fall away.

“Jim.” Jim can hardly hear it, through all of this dark. “I am--”

There’s a sharp click--the communicator is online again. Jim sucks in a big breath of hot air and opens his eyes.

“Selvek to Enterprise. Enterprise, come in.”

There’s crackling, suddenly loud in the cavern, then Uhura’s badly scrambled voice over the top. Jim makes out _captain_ and _security team_ and _coordinates_. Then some more crackling. Then nothing. But it almost doesn’t register--Jim is suddenly more alert than he’s been for hours, fighting to see--

“Lieutenant Uhura, the captain is alive but in immediate need of medical assistance. Please inform Dr. McCoy that we require--”

At that moment there’s that thickly rustling sound that Jim’s heard three too many times today, and a few moments later, Bones’ presence is announced with an angry series of coughs and a _what in God’s name is this fuckery._

“Doctor!” he hears Spock’s--no, it’s Selvek’s, isn’t it? It’s Selvek’s voice ringing out. It’s Selvek. “If you would attend to Jim.” The next thing Jim knows there’s hand on his ankle and--yep, that’s a hypo on his neck but at this point he just doesn’t even care--and his next breath is a tiny bit less full of pebbles and grit, and the one after that is closer to real air than he’s had in a while.

“Thanks, Bones,” he smiles, spinning in his head. “Bones, right?” Bones doesn’t smile back from behind his mask; he’s taking out an oxygen pack from his kit and putting the mask over Jim.

+++

 _Staying alive,_ he thinks fuzzily when he starts to come to, _you’re doing it wrong._

He cracks open his eyes; the light above is dimmed. So far so good--he tries levering himself up, and finds he’s not restrained, which is even better. He must be clean and totally fine; otherwise Bones would’ve had him hogtied to the biobed. He catches movement from the corner of his eye and he turns, to see Spock. It makes him sit up too fast. “Spock?” he asks carefully. He doesn’t remember beaming back aboard, but everything just before is startlingly, regrettably, fresh in his mind. He’s dizzy.

Beside him, Spock nods. For a second it’s weird that Spock is not in science blue because Jim’s only ever seen Spock in the medical bay in science blue--he gives Spock his best grin and says, “Hey there.”

Spock, of course, doesn’t grin. “Jim. The doctor did not expect you to regain consciousness for another 2.78 hours.”

Jim stretches his arms. “Well, you know me--defying expectations since 2233.”

“Indeed.”

Jim pauses mid-stretch--Spock sounds okay, but his eyes are like fists that won’t let him go. _He’s angry,_ Jim thinks. _And--_ but Jim doesn’t know.

“Hey,” he says, craning around him, then wincing. “Where’s Selvek? I need to--” Except then the sound of rapid feet gives way to Bones’ frowning face.

“My god, it’s like moths to a flame,” he mutters, mouth twisted in his usual Bonesy way. Hard on his heels is Selvek, in impeccable red. “What the hell are you doing here, Spock?” Bones snaps. “I thought I told you to get out.” He doesn’t give Spock a chance to answer before he’s scanning Jim, his expression getting darker and darker. “You have no business being awake, Jimbo,” he says. “Three hours is not enough to set your ankle and flush your lungs of the poison like the kind you were sucking up in that cave. You were in there for forty-five minutes--another hour and there woulda been permanent scarring of lung and esophageal tissue.” He switches off the beam and looks up with his fiercest scowl yet. “An hour after that and you woulda been dead. Woulda served you right, too, ungrateful sonofabitch.”

“Do I smell insubordination?” Jim says, with a very faint smile. Bones just presses his lips together and goes to a medical panel to hit some buttons. “Status report, Selvek,” Jim says, pushing himself up. He turns his neck from side to side, sliding his legs from the biobed, and avoids looking at Selvek. “What’d I miss?”

“We are currently holding orbit around Mu2 Octantis e. The luminescent substance we encountered in the cavern is not, as you had speculated, sentient,” Selvek reports, hands folded behind him. Jim tests his ankle, pretending he doesn’t feel uncomfortable under the gaze of his Vulcan first officer whose hand he has unintentionally caressed. He forces himself to look up at last.

“It does, however, constitute life--a colony of organisms,” Selvek is saying. “We have recalibrated our sensors to detect its chemical signature and have discovered its presence in other caverns in the same quadrant of the planet. Lieutenant Yax, with Commander Spock’s assistance, has identified a region that should be clear of such subterranean features, and safe for further exploration. We have also adjusted our models of the ion storm formations, and current projections indicate it will be possible to send down another landing party in approximately two hours."

“Good,” Jim nods. Selvek’s face is completely blank. Somehow, this is not a relief. “I’ll be ready to go. Can I have a word?” He approaches, ready to scuttle off alone with his first officer, to make his profuse apologies in private.

“Jim, I do not believe it would be advisable--” Selvek starts at the same time Spock says “I would ask that you remain on board--”

“Whoa, hey, who’s the captain around here, huh?” Jim cuts them both off, turning his frown on Spock, then Selvek. “I’m beaming back down there to finish the survey with you guys and that’s--OW! God _dammit_ Bones, what _was_ that?!?” He’s clapped a palm to his neck where Bones had unceremoniously launched a hypospray at him. It’s still stinging.

“Vitamins,” Bones says, with a grim smile. “And if you don’t listen to your Vulcan fan club here, it’s going to be sedatives next.”

**Feelings. Nothing More Than Feelings.**

It is nearing the time for the landing party to return to the surface of New Vulcan’s most distant sister planet, and Jim is behaving illogically.

“I assure you, Jim, there is no need for you to accompany us to the survey site,” Commander Selvek is saying. Spock detects no hint of imploring whatsoever in his tone. “Your presence on the Enterprise--”

“Let me assure _you,_ Commander, that the Enterprise can practically run herself while in orbit and that I’m 100% fit to take another crack at the big bad planetary survey, okay?” Jim cuts in. “I’ve had plenty of time to recover, and even the good doctor said I’m certified.”

“I said certifiable,” Dr. McCoy mutters from somewhere behind Spock. They are in Science Lab 8, Spock’s temporary office for the duration of the project. Spock, however, has not made much use of it in recent hours. Upon boarding the ship, Captain Kirk had invited Spock to the bridge and instead of demurring (as he ought to have done; there were diagnostics and pre-analyses to complete, which he had instead foisted on his capable, but less experienced, assistants), Spock had followed Jim to the turbolift and stood beside him, shoulder to shoulder, while Jim smiled and expressed his pleasure at Spock's presence in some detail. Jim's warmth was effusive, and Spock found it necessary to recall to mind the reason he had resigned his post.

The bridge of the Enterprise was unchanged (the soft sounds of each console, the murmured exchanges between crew). He had watched Jim sign off on padds, swivel in his chair (how many times had the captain swiveled toward Spock? He calculated it), and consult his second in command on routine ship’s business. Spock had stationed himself near Lieutenant Yax and observed Selvek’s obvious competence at Jim’s shoulder. Since Selvek’s return from the surface a fraught forty-eight minutes following Spock’s own return, Spock had found himself unaccustomedly agitated when his thoughts turned to Jim's first officer. Spock had beamed back to the ship with his staff, per the instructions of Commander Selvek. His resolve to follow Starfleet protocol had abandoned him shortly thereafter, however, and he had stationed himself on the bridge as the crew waited for word of the captain. He had not been questioned, at that time or later, when he proceeded to the transporter room, where he’d watched Jim materialize, unconscious, masked; secured in Selvek’s arms. Commander Selvek had stepped carefully from the transporter pad without his breathing apparatus and wordlessly, calmly, carried the captain’s still form to the medical bay. Dr. McCoy had, upon taking shape aboard the ship, immediately begun shouting orders at the waiting medical personnel.

“Come on, Spock,” he’d snapped at the end of it, before whirling off toward the turbolift. Spock, who had no valid reason to be there, had followed, his hands clasped tightly behind his back.

“I am aware of your views regarding Regulation 83.2,” Commander Selvek is saying to Jim. “However, in this instance, there is nothing to be gained by risking--”

Jim interrupts Selvek again. “Did you just cite 83.2 at me? Because that means I’m gonna have to pull rank and you know I hate doing that.”

“Jim, there is no point in arguing--”

“Well unless you’re planning to remove me or mutiny--” (“Here we go,” mutters Dr. McCoy.)

Spock is driven to action by the deep angle of Jim’s brow. It is a Pavlovian response; vestigial. “Captain, your assistance with the survey will be invaluable.”

Jim’s face lights up. Spock’s throat seems to tighten.

“See?” Jim throws Selvek a triumphant look.

“You can assist most efficiently while on-board the Enterprise,” Spock continues.

Jim turns sharply to him. “What?”

Spock forces down the fresh swell of emotion; he disregards his instinct to restore Jim’s bright grin. “The survey is being commissioned by the High Council, to whom I am responsible. I would appreciate your cooperation, Captain, in permitting the survey to proceed as I have judged best.” Jim’s face sets; it conveys disappointment, something like betrayal.

“Of course, you are in command of this vessel and its crew,” Spock says, looking at Jim, blinking past the regret that he cannot address at this moment, “and I am in no position to insist.”

At that, Jim’s expression shifts. “C’mere,” he says, moving to Spock and turning him a short distance from the others with an arm around Spock’s shoulder. The bend of his elbow dips between Spock’s shoulderblades, the curl of his hand comes against Spock’s upper arm. They are welcome to Spock, and unwelcome, for Spock does not wish to bolster his mental shields. He does it anyway, because he must, and feels nothing of Jim’s thoughts through his skin.

Jim speaks them to his ear. “You really want me to stay?”

Spock breathes, evenly. He cannot turn his head. “That is my wish,” he says calmly to the air. Jim’s fingers press to him.

“Will you come see me later? When you’re back and I’m off shift? I want to talk to you.”

Spock suspects the discussion Jim intends to have will be--unsettling. It hardly matters, however. Spock has been unsettled in some measure (small, and then great, and then greater still) since the first instant Spock saw him, glibly flouting the parameters of his character exam.

“Very well,” he replies.

“You’re not going to run off and make me come after you, right?”

Spock twists to Jim’s face before he can think. Jim’s gaze is steady; his mouth curves up. Spock’s shields are flawless, and useless against the abrupt sadness of that smile. “I will, you know,” Jim says, swaggering and wistful and looking at Spock.

It is a look Spock has known only on Jim, and its lines are imprinted within Spock’s mind.

“That will not be necessary,” he hears himself say.

Jim’s eyes soften, and crinkle. Spock feels fingers dig into his arm. Suddenly Jim claps his other hand to the flat of Spock’s chest. “Good man,” he grins, bright and loud once again.

“All right guys, I’m staying. Spock made me an offer I couldn’t refuse,” he announces, spinning away from Spock. “Gonna get me some neck-pinching skills,” he says, slapping Dr. McCoy on the shoulder. “Everyone--better watch your back!”

Dr. McCoy snorts and looks across to Spock, who arches a brow. The doctor looks relieved and drags Jim out the doors (“Come on, let’s let the hobgoblins do their jobs.”). Spock turns to ready his equipment, and meets the impassive gaze of Commander Selvek.

“If I may inquire, did you agree to teach Captain Kirk the to'tsu'k'hy?” Selvek asks. His demeanor is one of perfect Vulcan reserve.

Spock regards him. “Negative.”

“Then why is he willing to remain on the Enterprise?” Selvek asks. “Jim does not enjoy ‘missing out,’ as he has described it. He has repeatedly indicated that, as the captain, he is entitled to ‘a piece of the action.’”

Jim had told him that, too, and now Spock cannot deny it. The ire that Commander Selvek stirs in him has absolutely no sound basis and yet it seems to bloom, unresponsive to reason, with each word Selvek speaks, with or of the captain. “I am uncertain,” Spock replies. It comes out too curtly; Spock nearly flinches at the sound.

Commander Selvek waits, as if expecting Spock to continue. Spock does not ( _I believe he agreed because I asked, because we are friends, because he is irrational, because once, at least, he valued me above all_ ) and Selvek simply nods.

“I, also, often find myself so, where Captain Kirk is concerned. He is a singular individual. Over time, I will better understand his mind.” The commander glances at the table behind him. “Do you require assistance with the instruments?”

Spock’s emotions threaten to suffocate, for Commander Selvek is correct. Perhaps, one day, Commander Selvek will confront the same dilemma as Spock. He wonders what a true Vulcan would do.

“Thank you, no,” Spock replies, and turns away.

+++

The rest of the survey proceeds without incident, now that Captain Kirk is no longer part of the team. Spock and his aides return to the ship with Commander Selvek and Lieutenant Yax, bearing full datachips and the foundations of an encouraging report to the High Council. Spock doesn’t realize that he’s expecting Jim to be there upon their arrival until they’re standing on the transporter pad and only Ensigns Laramie and Kim greet them with nods and confirming clicks of the dials on their consoles. He’s fully aware that disappointment is illogical, although the expectation wasn’t—Jim has, on 97.6% of similar occasions, been waiting. He sees Commander Selvek turn over his equipment to Lieutenant Yax and exit the transporter room with a nod to Spock. Presumably, Commander Selvek is going to the bridge.

Spock forcibly turns his attention to the task of collecting their gear and instructing Ryvek and T’Mok as to the initial analyses to be run on their newly-acquired information. They proceed to Lab 8, where they remain for the next six hours, reducing data, compiling findings, generating statistical reports, and discussing the basic scope of the presentation to the High Council. They are uninterrupted by crises, a scheduled mealtime, or Captain Kirk.

Spock is fully aware that disappointment is illogical, and that this fact does nothing to negate it.

+++

“Deck 12,” Spock tells the computer. Over the whir of the turbolift, he considers the dangers of inadequate rest. When he served among humans, it was easy to synchronize his own needs with theirs in such a way as to ensure regular periods of sleep and recreation. Surrounded by Vulcans, he has had to re-acquaint himself with the practice of monitoring his mental and physical state. He does not possess the stamina of most of his colleagues on New Vulcan, and it is difficult, at times, to remember this. _No,_ he corrects himself, _the difficulty lies in acknowledging it, and leaving the lab._

He is frowning slightly, considering this, when the car hisses to a halt and he steps through the doors and heads toward his quarters. Three-fourths of the way there, he stops abruptly. His frown deepens. Deck 12 houses crew and officers. It formerly housed him.

Spock doesn’t berate himself out loud. He turns around sharply and begins to walk back to the turbolift, passing familiar gray doors, each of which he once could have opened, with the proper command. He is not within sight of his destination when he comes within hearing of it, and what he hears is Jim, speaking in low tones, pitched for Vulcan ears (or so Jim had claimed, on one occasion). It, too, is familiar to Spock.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about what happened back on the planet. I didn’t—uh, I didn’t mean to grab at you like that--” Jim is saying.

“Apology is unnecessary.” Commander Selvek’s reply is unsatisfactory to Spock—in its existence, its formulation, its inflection. Wholly, wildly, irredeemably unsatisfactory.

“I won’t make excuses but—”

“Jim.” Spock wills himself to breathe in evenly. “Please,” Commander Selvek says. They are approaching Spock’s position. “There truly is no need to apologize, for any of your actions. I understand your—”

“Spock!”

Spock straightens instinctively in the presence of the captain.

“What are you doing here?” Captain Kirk is smiling, but apprehension is there, in the tired curve of his jaw. Spock cannot suppress an echo of the same from darting down his spine. “You come to see me?”

An affirmative reply would be untruthful. Spock keeps his features impassive, and answers, “You requested to speak with me, Captain, prior to our arrival at New Vulcan; however, you are presently occupied.” He glances briefly at Selvek, as long as he can bear. “I can return at a more convenient time.”

“Nah, now works; I was going to go look for you anyway.” He grins at Spock, but something is amiss—the expression is not consistent with Spock’s knowledge of Jim’s face, grinning. Spock falls into step beside him, and listens to Jim give Commander Selvek final instructions concerning the last engineering diagnostics and navigational reports.

“See ya, Selvek,” Jim says with a smile. “And thanks. Good work today. As usual.” Jim speaks as if his words have some unspoken significance; Spock can only speculate that it relates to what Jim and Selvek were discussing in private a few moments ago. It is to no end frustrating, that no amount of thought will unveil what had transpired between them, on the planet. Spock observes silently as Selvek says good night, and returns Selvek’s glance of farewell toward Spock with a nod of his own. It is just him and the captain now, entering the captain’s quarters. Spock finds his arms and hands tensing, and forces his muscles to loosen. Whatever the captain chooses to say, Spock has promised to listen.

**What’s a Little Verbal Inexactitude Between Friends?**

“So I guess the survey went well, huh?” Jim starts, because he’s got nothing better to say and he can’t go to _Heard the Vulcan High Council has finally come to grips with reality and recognized what an amazing, incredible, gifted individual you are despite your horrible human half and that they’ve decided to make up for their mistake by offering you a job as one of them_ right off the bat.

“We achieved our objectives,” is Spock’s reply. Jim is kind of shuffling aimlessly toward the vicinity of his desk, wishing he had a liquor cabinet like Bones’, but he turns around at this. Spock’s standing there with his hands behind his back, looking like a fucking perfect Vulcan in the midst of Jim’s private descent into hell. It’s just—infuriating.

“Glad to hear it,” Jim says. He throws himself into the desk chair (it’s a replica of the captain’s chair on the bridge— _“A sensible choice for someone who relishes the seat of authority as you do, Captain,”_ Spock had said when he’d first seen it) and kicks up his feet. Spock remains standing.

“You can sit down,” Jim says, pushing his chin out. “Look, that’s still your chair.” He waits as Spock tilts up an eyebrow, then moves to the armchair that he used to occupy all the time. _He won’t be doing that probably ever again,_ Jim thinks, laughing inwardly at his own despair, _not after he joins the High Council._ On the upside, the feeling enables him to put up his smile, and the instant he sees Spock sit, sees the way Spock’s posture seems to ease into the calmly attentive pose of Spock in his favorite chair, the angry frustration ebbs away. Jim is just tired, and he’s going to lose Spock.

“Selvek said you guys found some real interesting things on the planet.” Jim leans back with his elbows on the arms. It feels like they might be getting ready to play a game of chess. This is how it used to go—Spock would come by, they’d have a chat about random ship’s news, then get down to it. Spock would frown and Jim would laugh, and on the good nights Jim would win--the game, and that dark-eyed look from Spock that made Jim feel like he was being taken apart by careful quiet fingers, by one careful thought at a time.

“Selvek said the Council’s gonna be bouncing off the walls,” Jim continues. He’s trying to maneuver this into a conversation about the Council, but the very faint line in Spock’s forehead derails him. “What? Early results not as promising as previously indicated?”

“Negative—preliminary findings suggest the planet is abundant in fertile soils suitable for several strains of triticale, as well as in gallecite, pergium, and to some extent, dilithium,” Spock replies. “I was merely considering the probability that Commander Selvek made such a statement.”

Jim has to laugh at that. “Probability? Haven’t you heard? Vulcans are completely literal-minded. It’s a big pain in the ass when it’s not funny.” He grins at Spock, who lifts both brows slightly.

Spock moves as if to speak, then pauses. “You appear to have developed a strong rapport with the commander,” he says.

“Well yeah,” Jim replies, after a beat of surprise. “What, you think just because you and I kind of got off on the wrong foot when I snuck on board and you marooned me on an ice planet riddled with giant predators and I emotionally compromised you and you almost killed me with your bare hands, that means I wouldn’t get along with someone like Selvek? Come on.” Jim flashes Spock a big bright smile. “He’s not you, you know.”

Spock looks at him levelly. “I am aware.”

Jim just smiles, working out what to say next, when Spock continues, “You and he play chess.”

From anyone else, it would be a kind of leading question, a conversationalistic ploy. From Spock, a master of strategy but never a casual practitioner, it’s just a statement. Jim huffs a laugh.

“Yep. We sure do. Once or twice a week. Why? You want to play?” Jim breezes on without letting Spock respond. “Although, you’ve probably got more important things to do, like getting your report ready for the Council. Hey, speaking of the Council”—subtle would’ve been nice but this is all Jim’s got—“I’ve been given to understand they’ve had a real change of heart about you.”

He puts his arms up, folding his hands behind his head, grinning like this is the best news ever.

Spock doesn’t react, except to ask, “May I inquire as to your basis for this understanding?”

Jim ignores the painful catch in his chest. He flings out his hands and arms. “So it’s true? You’re going to be a member of the High Council?”

Again, Spock speaks deliberately—he seems on-guard, probably because this is top-secret shit. “There has been no discussion of--”

“But you got the job as Gol Nev’su?”

Spock’s eyes narrow fractionally. “When did you learn of this?”

“While you were gone—oh man, you’re so in! Why didn’t you tell me?” Jim’s face is hurting—he’s proud of Spock, he really is, because he knows what this must mean, what kind of vindication this must signify for someone who was always singled out or discounted or underestimated. He knows what it is to have to constantly _prove_ \--it’s fucking exhausting, and Spock has finally broken through all those damned logicheads and shown them what’s up. Jim jumps from the chair, unable to sit still now that Spock’s confirmed it. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me?” he practically shouts, pacing around his desk. “This is huge! It’s phenomenal!”

Spock, who had risen quickly with Jim’s leap, goes from somewhat alarmed back to normal. “Starkly ironic would be a more fitting assessment--”

Jim takes him in a fierce bodyhug.

“Congrats, buddy,” Jim says, right into Spock’s ear, or his neck, or his hair. He crushes down on Spock’s ribcage, presses his jaw to Spock’s, squeezes shut his eyes and holds his breath hard, and when he can’t go any tighter or not breathe for any longer, he lets go. He steps back across the swirling floor, and smiles, and lets go.

“I am so happy for you, man,” Jim says. “You are going to be the best damn council member they’ve ever had.” He’s got to do it while he can, with the heat of Spock’s torso still lighting his own, with the feel of Spock’s startled-stiff spine still flush against his arms.

Spock stares at him, his chin ticking left.

“Captain.”

Jim’s smile doesn’t waver despite the sudden intensity of Spock’s eyes. The calm is gone, burned away by the dark of his take-apart stare. It always gets to Jim, always, and Jim’s knee-jerk reaction is to bluff it out. Always.

“So! Party time!” Jim announces loudly, smacking Spock on the shoulder and hopping back around his desk. “I’m shocked Uhura managed to keep this on the down low—I’m going to have a word with her about keeping the captain better informed,” Jim says, talking fast, smiling bright as he leans over to the comm panel. “She’s supposed the best damn communications officer in the fleet—”

“I have not informed Lieutenant Uhura, or anyone in Starfleet, of the Council’s offer, as I have not yet decided whether to accept.” The sharpness in Spock’s voice arrests Jim’s hand and he jerks his head up, finger frozen over the button.

For the past sixteen hours he’s been coming to grips with the fact that Spock is not coming back to the Enterprise when the High Council wants him to be part of their club. That’s just obvious, a no-brainer. Who can say no to the Council? Twice? Not even Spock’s got balls big enough. Right? Jim ends up frowning and sucking in a breath and shaking his head and exhaling an incredulous laugh all at the same time.

“I’m sorry?” He’s still hunched over with his hand hovering over the comm panel, ready to call in Scotty and Uhura and Sulu and Chekhov and Bones and the biggest fucking vegetarian cake the replicators can handle.

“What did you wish to discuss, Captain?” Spock asks, ignoring Jim’s blatant shock.

“I—” Jim has to think. “I was going to ask if you’d be interested in rejoining the crew here. What do you mean you haven’t decided whether to accept?” Jim has straightened up; he can feel his face twisting into creases even as his heart breathes hope into the small veins of his body. They flicker, in his eyelids, as he leans across his desk.

“In what capacity would I rejoin the crew?” Spock says. He is crisp. Perfect.

“Senior science officer,” Jim answers immediately, almost stumbling on the words because Spock can’t be serious, he can’t be seriously thinking of coming back now when he’s got the High Council waiting on him but the way Spock’s looking, the questions he’s asking, they’re making Jim think things he knows better than to think—

“Ah,” says Spock. Then he frowns, minutely, and Jim doesn’t know what’s happening—Spock never says _ah_ , as if he’s unsure what to say, Spock never hesitates as he’s hesitating now—Jim seizes the moment to run his mouth, in the worst way.

“Look, you deserve to be first officer—hell, you deserve your own ship—but Selvek’s first officer on the Enterprise now and a he’s damn good one at that and I’ve got no reason to let him go—”

Jim’s mouth stops half-open, ready to make the next word—but Spock’s face just _flared_ and it floors Jim for an instant; it’s the look of Spock snapping and lashing out with a hand, his teeth and eyes glittering. It’s savagery.

“I would not wish it otherwise.” Spock’s eyes, like his hands, are folded again. “I regret I am not able to return to the Enterprise. I must apologize if my query conveyed an incorrect impression; I was merely indulging in--” He pauses. “Curiosity.” His eyes search over Jim’s face for a moment—then he extends a hand. Jim blinks down at the movement, and reflex kicks in.

 _We’re shaking hands,_ he thinks distantly, as Spock’s fingers curl around his palm.

“Think about it, at least,” Jim says slowly. Spock’s fingertips are light, hot, nestled at his skin.

“Jim,” Spock begins. And stops. Jim’s eyes widen. The edge of Spock’s thumb moves soundlessly across each of Jim’s knuckles in a careful, and unmistakable, touch. “I do not believe that would be wise,” Spock tells him, in his mild, measured manner, with the curve of his hand pressed gently, as if permanently, to Jim’s own.

**It Is Time to See the World As It Is.**

Spock sits in his quarters. He has assumed the lesh’riq, with his feet tucked beneath him, but his mind is distant from the customary trance. His padd rests on the mat before him. Spock contemplates the dark screen, then reaches out and presses replay.

“Hey Spock.” Jim’s face is large on the screen. It appears stretched somehow, though the image is not distorted. This is a standard ship-to-surface transmission, made via a secured link with signal integrity confirmed. Jim’s face smiles. He appears to need rest.

“It was great having you here,” the transmission says, in Jim’s voice. “Good luck with that report. I—” At this point Jim looks away from his screen and pushes a hand to the side of his face. There’s a muffled sound, like a laugh, and Jim’s head drops back into full view. His eyebrows jut upward and he expels the breath from his lungs, noisily, as he does when tired or exasperated or deeply satisfied with the outcome of a mission or any number of emotions Spock has watched him feel. “Miss you already. Kirk out.”

The transmission ends with the standard pip and logo, leaving Spock in the stillness of the dim incense-heavy air. This was the message blinking on his padd upon his return from the Enterprise, sixty-three days ago. In those sixty-three days, Spock has tested and re-tested the strength of his logic, and each time his meditations have yielded the same conclusion. The good of the many outweighs the good of the few. The good of the many outweighs the good of the one. It is another lesson Spock does not believe Jim has truly learned.

There are eighteen days remaining on his current assignment as the commanding officer in the Management of Urban Resources and Affairs Department at Federation Outpost 4. In twelve hours’ time, Spock will speak to the Council. He has yet to compose his thoughts, or the words he will use to address the Elders.

He stretches out his hand to play Jim’s message once more, then changes his mind. It is illogical. The good of the many outweighs the good of the one. The good of the many--

Spock opens a new transmission, and composes a message. It consists of one line.

_Do you still require a senior science officer?_

He closes it, verifies it, and sends it off to the captain of the starship Enterprise.

+++

“Captain, permission to come aboard?”

“Spock!”

The unquestionable surge of gratification, delight, satisfaction (happiness, this is happiness) Spock experiences remove the last vestiges of doubt he had harbored during his transport to the ship. Jim’s striding from his chair, his eyes shining in the light reflected from the consoles, and his arms are open wide, then closed, around Spock, warm and firm for a moment before Spock is released.

“Permission granted,” Jim says, grinning. He gives Spock a hard squeeze to the shoulder, and no touch telepathy is necessary for Jim’s pleasure to be known. Spock breathes in the familiar air of the Enterprise and sweeps the bridge with his gaze. Ensigns Chekhov and Sulu man the helm and navigations; Commander Selvek stands near the main viewer. Dr. McCoy is next to him, a padd in hand. Lieutenant Yax is at the science station, and beside her Nyota is beaming with her earpiece in. She gives a little wave. They all look at Spock, their attitudes and expressions aligned with their captain’s in unequivocal welcome.

Spock feels overwhelmed, that his heart is fit to burst. He nods in return. When his eyes shift back to Jim, however, his mouth lifts, to smile.


End file.
